


To The Desert

by Jalopy



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Ending, F/M, Following the River, Hopeful Ending, I Fought the Law, Novelization, Original Content - Freeform, Retelling, Romance, Slow Burn, The Hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalopy/pseuds/Jalopy
Summary: Tale as old as time - woman pulls heist, woman loses friends and credibility, woman ends up alone with a Night City Legend erasing her identity and replacing it with his own. Not by my choice, I'd add. Things seemed manageable for V alone until they weren't anymore, and she found herself on a path that put her in front of Detective River Ward. She's thankful she met the badge, and I'm just thankful she waited to fuck him 'til after he changed careers.V never fucking listens to me, but maybe this time... it'll turn out better than I'm expecting it to.◾◾◾A novelization of V and River's storyline as well as expanding on the unique relationship between Johnny and V (no romance). Including some original content/missions, and eventually, an original ending. Weekly updates.
Relationships: Female V/River Ward, V/River Ward
Comments: 22
Kudos: 29





	1. I Fought The Law

  


**◾1: I FOUGHT THE LAW◾**

I trip over a bottle of tequila on my way out of bed. That oughta tell you all you need to know about the state of my apartment. Yesterday’s version of myself couldn’t be bothered to pick up another piece of trash on the floor. 

**_You’re a class act, V._ **

_Thanks, Johnny. Color commentary is exactly what I need right now._

It’s been weeks of this shit. But at this point… I can hear the trace of pride in the voice of Johnny Silverhand that echoes in the spaces of my mind. Tripping over a bottle of tequila is what _he’d_ probably have done in my shoes. 

**_Nah, woulda tripped over the woman holding the bottle, too, if I was driving._ **

Well, he’s _not_ driving, so there’s no passed out groupie output on my floor. I lean against the window, looking out over a rain and neon drenched day in Night City. I haven’t been sleeping much since Jackie’s… well, anyway, just a couple hours of sleep when and where I can grab them. Don’t know if it’s grief, or if it’s the second mind taking up space in my head. You’d think I’d need to sleep for two, but nope. I crank the music up in my apartment so I can take a scalding hot shower without hearing that fucking Nicola ad for the umpteenth time. _Taste the love!_

A Nicola can crunches under my bare foot on my way to the shower, and I hiss in pain, recoiling from evidence that I am not above falling prey to advertisement. I force myself to really take in the wasteland my apartment has become. Depression, huh? What a bitch. Maybe I’ll clean it up a little after the shower. 

But of course I don’t. Instead, post shower, I slip into familiar clothing, trusty revolver at my hip, and head out into the hall of my apartment building. The wall of sound hits me as soon as my door slides open; the hallway opens directly into the market inside. People taking refuge from the rain, people with nothing better to do but lean against the railing with a cigarette in hand. I’d say I’ve been here long enough to start recognizing the faces I pass, but the truth is, I don’t. Hardly recognize the guy selling noodles near the elevator at the bottom floor, and I _know_ I’ve talked to him a handful of times. 

I head into the garage, finding the bike where I left it. Jackie’s bike. I feel something grip and squeeze my heart when I see it, thinking about… 

**_Be a good time for a cigarette._ **

_Still don’t smoke, Johnny. Shit’ll kill you._

I don’t hear him laugh, but I know he’s smirking. The longer he’s with me, the more I can kind of… sense him. His moods, his expressions. Doesn’t need to say anything about how I’m already dyin’. Thankfully, Johnny’s lost chooms before. He’s never once mocked me for whatever I feel about Jackie. I check my phone to see the usual list of requests from fixers. V, go steal this. V, go kill this gonk. Yadda yadda. None of it appears time sensitive. And yes, I'm aware that using a phone is extremely old fashioned. Got an implant to handle calls but like the feeling of old tech in my hand. So I tuck my phone away, only to get the haptic alert that a call’s coming in, and I pull it back out. The image on screen is a corpo-looking woman, dressed to the nines. My hackles go up - what’s a woman like this calling me direct for?

“Hello?” I step to the side of the hallway to take the call. 

“Hello, we haven’t met. I’m Elizabeth. My husband and I, we need a somewhat delicate matter handled. And we heard you could help.” 

“Mind me askin’ who your husband is?” I ask, eyes flicking upward to make sure no one’s coming at me sideways while I’m occupied. “Actually, who’re you?” It’s a little strange that she’s calling me directly, instead of working through a fixer. But maybe, with the kind of money she looks like she’s got, she feels comfortable cutting out middle men and women. 

“I’d rather not discuss details over the phone,” she says, sounding slightly more relaxed. Musta been worried I’d turn down such a random call. “Please meet us. We’ll explain everything.” 

My gut instinct in situations like this is always to say “Hell no, are you insane?”, but I find myself saying “Sure, just send me detes and I’ll be there” most of the time. Like now. I find the longer I’m in Night City, the more comfortable I am with the idea of going just about anywhere. Especially if it might land me in the right place to fix my recent mental illness. 

“Okay… sure. Let’s meet.”

“Great. I’m sending you the address now. See you soon.” She hangs up quickly after that, and I try chalking it up to eccentric rich-bitch behavior rather than anything malicious. 

**_Keep your eyes open. Never know if this is Arasaka figurin’ out who you are and how to get at you._ **

_I can’t afford to see Arasaka around every corner. I’d never leave the apartment again._

Once I get into the garage, I see Jackie’s bike parked exactly where I left it, as always. One of the first things I did when I saved up enough eddies was to jet over to where one of my fixers, Dino, hangs around most days. He put me in touch with the Right People, got a biomon link installed, and boom. Not worried about theft, and if someone _does_ manage to steal it, well, they’ll get a face full of my gun as soon as my tracker lets me know the bike’s movin’ without my ass on the seat and I pay the thief a visit. 

I hop on the bike and head to the address Elizabeth texted me, finding a car waiting for me at the expected coordinates. A very expensive car, with what is very clearly a bodyguard moonlighting as a driver standing next to the door that leads to the back seat on the driver’s side. The car looks almost identical to a Delamain, and the last time I was in one of those… well. It’s not a good memory. 

“Are you V?” The huscle asks, voice curiously cultured and at odds with his size. “Please, step in the vehicle.” He gestures to the closed door. 

“Uh… okay.” I say, hesitating, as I can’t see shit through the heavily tinted windows. I open the door for myself, revealing two faces looking back at me that I recognize almost immediately. 

“Hello, V. I’m Jefferson Peralez.” The man says with the confident smile of a politician, immediately reaching out to shake my hand, clasp my forearm after I drop into the back seat of the car. The pieces lock into place for me - this man’s face has been plastered all over the city for months now. Mayoral candidate, looking good for the spot, too. Coming out ahead of Holt in virtually all polls. Not that it’s surprising. Politics aren’t my thing, but Holt replaced the recently deceased current mayor, and everything I’ve been unable to avoid reading indicates he’s not exactly popular with the people. And on the flip side of that is Jefferson Peralez - man who won’t bend to corpos. And the people ate that scop up, if scop it was.

Seems like a legit gig, so I close the car door, shutting out the scents of the city. I go noseblind to ‘em for the most part, but when I get into places like this where the scents disappear, I notice the absence immediately. 

“You’ve already spoken with Elizabeth, my wife,” Jefferson Peralez starts. 

“I did. A pleasure to meet you both in person.” I add, managing not to forget my manners. 

“Right again, Liz.” Jefferson says as he leans over to make eye contact with his wife, who sits in the passenger seat in the front. He turns back to me. “You see, my wife is a great judge of character. Said this would work.” He pauses. “Now I see why.” 

I nod my head, settling back into the seat a little while still maintaining polite eye contact with either Peralez at a time. Elizabeth regards me with… not hostility, but she’s not as warm and welcoming as her husband is. Maybe it’s the politician in him, or maybe it’s the corporat in her. 

“And you’re the mayoral candidate. Former DA, rocketed into City Council?”

“I gather you now understand why discretion is of the utmost importance.” He looks satisfied that I’ve recognized him without him or his wife needing to drop names. Elizabeth looks proud, too. Woman behind the man and all that. 

The bodyguard gets behind the steering wheel. Elizabeth merely mentions his name, and the man, Carter, starts his slow drive out into the city. 

“Elizabeth?” Jefferson looks to his wife, prompting her to lead the explanation about why she called me. 

“Well, as you’re probably aware, Mayor Lucius Rhyne recently passed.” She starts. Yeah - I’m not into politics, but it’s been impossible for me to avoid the news that NC’s mayor died recently. If you are a human who goes outside or interacts with tech, ever, you’ve heard this story somewhere. Slurpin’ noodles - hear it on the radio. Tryin’ to find love on Jig Jig street - see it on a TV in the lobby of the motel the joytoy takes you to. 

“We want to know how, why, and whatever else is pertinent.” Jefferson adds. If I didn’t know better, I would say they rehearsed having this entire conversation with me before I got in the car. They pass conversation back and forth, perfectly scripted. They don’t talk over each other. No interrupting each other. But now, they both seem to have paused, waiting for me to speak, to ask questions. 

“It was all over the news.” I say simply, trying to poke a little, seeing as they clearly don’t believe what the media reported. 

“Pft, of course it was. Media feasted for weeks.” Elizabeth replies, disgust coloring her words. “Pieces like that are their lifeblood.” I guess it’s not unusual for politicians to hate the media. 

“Right. Think they missed somethin’?” I ask her. 

“We have reason to believe they did, yes.” 

“Okay… far as I know, the case is closed, already.” I shift in the seat. I’m feeling discomfort that has nothing to do with the car. 

“It is. Of course, the police wrote it off as natural causes. Rhyne passed at home due to a “cardioimplant malfunction.”” She doesn’t go so far as to use quote unquote fingers when she says it, but her tone heavily implies she doesn’t believe a word of the official story. 

“But we’re left wondering about the cyberpsycho attack at City Hall just a few days earlier.” Jefferson chimes in. 

“The police say it was completely unrelated.” Elizabeth finishes. They both pause again to wait for me to ask questions.

“These suspicions of yours… wouldn’t have anything to do with the upcoming election, would they?” I’m trying my best not to fidget, but can’t seem to keep still. They’re both so composed and I’m back here wiggling like a kid on a long drive. 

Jefferson raises an eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders as he answers me. “Of course they would. If Lucius Rhyne was murdered, we want to know. We _need_ to know.” His forthright answer helps ease my growing discomfort. 

“What makes you think the cops got it wrong? Any evidence?” I ask. 

“Shortly before Rhyne passed, he made cuts in the NCPD budget. Perhaps got on someone’s bad side that way.” Elizabeth says, looking over to Jefferson rather than to me. It’s not nothin’, but it’s weak as far as leads go. 

“In any case, we have the cyberpsycho attack on a BD.” Jefferson says, pulling my attention from his wife’s inscrutable expression back to his own more carefully cultivated and friendly persona. 

“Our chief of security scanned it, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, so to speak.” Elizabeth says. I still have that sense that I’m being bounced between them. Tactically. In a practiced way. “We decided we needed a braindance editor, a real one. It’s raw footage.” 

“The braindance - it has to be back where it belongs. Today. Or a lot of people will be in a lot of trouble.” Back to Jefferson. “If you agree to help, you can see it right now.” 

Hard to ignore a treat like that, no matter who’s danglin’ it in front of me. It’s not just the smell of eddies in the air, either. This kind of gig is what drew me to Night City in the first place. 

**_Think this maybe-Mayor is nervous about his longevity?_ **

_I think that’s probably why he called me, yeah. Thinks he’s gonna have some heart failure bullshit, too._

**_Probably will, least, when he’s done being useful. Politicians aren’t elected by the people these days._ **

“Where’d you happen to get this? And, gotta ask, why me?” I ask. Not about to get conned with a spiked BD and end up in a bathtub fulla ice, like poor Dorsett. I idly wonder how she’s doing while Elizabeth gives me a cool look of appraisal. She glances over at her husband. 

“Rhyne was making a public appearance. BD scrolling’s standard procedure for something like that.” Jefferson explains. “Following the attack, the NCPD impounded the footage as evidence.” 

“We had to pull many strings to extract it,” Elizabeth adds, eyebrows knitted together slightly. Can’t tell if she’s annoyed at my question, or concerned I’ll dig further for names. “So we reached out to a contact of ours, expert BD editor, and she referred you to us.” Elizabeth answers the ‘why me’ part of my line of questions, and I nod in response. Musta been Judy - no other editors I know would throw my name to the wolves like this. Hell, no other editors I know, period. 

“Alright. Lemme see what I can find.” I say after chewing my answer over for a few long moments. I hold my hand out, and Jefferson smiles, nodding. Shard in his hand already like he didn’t expect any other answer from me. Didn’t even consider I might say no to him. _Fuckin’ politicians._

“Excellent. We’d be happy with any find that would clarify things, alleviate lingering doubts.” He says, handing me the shard. I pop it into the slot on my BD wreath, then slide it over my temples like a crown. And as soon as the scroll loads, my surroundings dissolve into a sea of colorful pixels as I sink into a stranger’s reality. 


	2. Reconstructing Fate

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/lobstermobsters/50990395691/in/dateposted-public/)

**◾2: RECONSTRUCTING FATE◾**

Sinking into a BD is a jarring experience for me, always. I’d avoided them, actually, up until I couldn’t. After everything fell apart with Evelyn and Jackie. Now, it seems like they’re becoming a regular part of my personal menu. Almost as soon as the BD loads, I take it into edit mode, so I can remove myself from a stranger’s emotions and sensations. Things get a little blurry this way, a little harder to discern, but it also offers me the chance to see what the scroller missed. 

The BD opens with the face of a man who’s got the rectangle build of huscle since time immemorial. 

**_Well, whadda we got here?_ **Johnny asks, appearing behind the man, trademark cigarette lit between his fingers. 

_Question is… what are YOU doing here?_

**_My brain too, isn’t it?_ **Johnny’s tone lands somewhere between sarcasm and offense. Like it’s offensive I’m askin’ what he’s doing here, distracting me. Gotta focus on the task at hand, don’t have time to consider the philosophical question he’s posed. 

“And this time, don’t go scrolling every ass you see. Eyes on the mayor.” The huscle gives the scroller shit, and I chuckle. Hard work, scrolling pressers for politicians. Get bored, eyes wander, eyes then linger too long on some media’s ass, and that’s what ends up in the official city archive. Then you’re just an asshole who can’t keep his eyes up on what’s important in the room. “Stuff belongs to city hall. Let’s keep it PG.” 

I turn my attention to the two similarly built men at the front of the room, standing by a podium. Both look heavy with the weight of political responsibility and plenty of fine dining. 

“Weldon Holt…” I say aloud, scanning the NCPD file for both men. “Mayor Lucius Rhyne.” I don’t hear either Elizabeth or Jefferson respond. The two politicians look familiar. Remind me of some men I saw back in Konpeki Plaza. 

**_These assclowns are all the same. Just change suits, is all._ **

Holt and Rhyne are cloaked in shadow and blurry edges as the scroller, Lark, leaves the area, heading to the back of the room. But just before I move with Lark, I realize something’s triggered the audio layer of the BD. I switch to that layer, catching a piece of the conversation the two politicians were having before Lark was too far away to hear it.

“Second conference in three days. No idea what this blitz is for.” Holt says, sounding tired. Fed up with being dragged around by Rhyne’s agenda?

“That’s why _I’m_ mayor, and _you’re_ not.” Rhyne quips. “Now’s when you need the visibility.” 

“You’re spreading yourself too thin.” Holt retorts, but his heart’s not in it. Doesn’t sound as concerned as the comment implies. 

“I’ll rest tonight. My room at the Red Queen’s Race is ready?”

“Yes, of course.” Holt says. 

“Good, now go. Gotta practice.” Rhyne is turned around when he says it, doesn’t see that Holt and his huscle are already halfway outta the room before Rhyne’s even finished his sentence. Interesting.

_Red Queen’s Race? Anything come to mind for you, hearin’ that?_

**_Sure. Buncha old Britfarts in powdered wigs shoutin’ ‘off with their heads!’._ **

_Y’know, you’re allowed to say you don’t have a clue._

I scroll back a few moments, watching Holt and the other guy leave a couple of times, looping like a broken record, while I look around the room. It’s hard, things get blurry as Lark moves away from the politicians. Can’t make out anything past the door frame once Holt disappears. 

_They left literally seconds before the attack._ I say it more for my benefit than Johnny’s. _Looks planned. Like it was done on purpose._

**_That, or the psycho saw his chance and took it. Don’t get paranoid on me._ **

****

I stay as long as I can before the nature of BD editing wins, yanking my attention to the back of the room and out into the entry area, just outside. A tall man in a long jacket strides through the security gate, setting off the alarm and causing the security jockey at the desk to bark “Hold it! Stop right there.” The man responds by way of flashing a badge, and the guard turns the alarm off. 

“Slow your roll,” Lark says, holding a hand out to stop the badge’s quick walk into the auditorium where Rhyne is practicing his speech. 

“River Ward, NCPD.” Ward holds his badge up to Lark’s face. Impatient, looking around him, looking like he wants to get his eyes on the mayor and quick. He’s got a few inches on Lark, but isn’t as wide. 

“Police… let him in?” Lark raises his voice, looking over his shoulder while still blocking Ward’s movement into the room. I hear Rhyne shoot back with a “let him wait”. 

“It’s important,” Ward says, voice urgent, “gotta speak to the Mayor’s chief of security.” 

“Preem,” Lark replies, uninterested in Ward’s reason for being there, “do it after the conference.” 

The badge pushes past, deciding that Lark’s not the voice of command he should be paying attention to and heads into the auditorium. As I’m still in editing mode, I see another man come into the building. See the security terminal crashing as the stranger comes through the checkpoint. Lark turns, watching Ward disregard him, doesn’t catch the danger comin’ in the front door. 

_Terminal crashed right as he went through the gate. Yeah… glitch was no accident._

**_Meh. Seen stranger coincidences._ **Johnny says, sounding bored with my desire to see this for what it clearly is. 

_Like?_

**_Like when you bang some chick and then her sister - later, same night… and it turns out they’re both sisters of God._ **

_That really happened to you?_ I ask, knowing full well it fuckin’ didn’t and pitching my voice to indicate as much. 

**_Nah. But it could’ve._ **He puts extra emphasis on the last word, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

Just as Ward’s disappeared through the door into the auditorium, the cyberpsycho quickly and easily crosses through the security checkpoint. No hesitation, no alarms raised. 

_So the cop wanted to tell security somethin’._ I say, rewinding and watching the cyberpsycho’s entrance a few times in a row, scanning for details around him. 

**_Prolly that he was standin’ by to lick Rhyne’s butthole._ **Johnny says, still sounding amused with himself. 

_Y’know, not every badge is…_ I pause the BD to retort, then realize I’ve taken the bait, and this conversation isn’t worth my time. 

**_Not what, a butthole licker?_ ** And now Johnny sounds well and truly entertained. **_Nah, can’t last long on the force unless you are. Pretty sure Rhyne added it to NCPD’s code of conduct when he became Mayor._ **

_Fuck off, Johnny._

I unpause the BD, stepping to the side of the room to watch the cyberpsycho, Péter Horváth, clear security without issue. He’s humming something that doesn’t quite sound like a melody, but a tune that still has structure and purpose. Reminds me of an old holo I watched as a kid, out in the desert with the Bakkers. In the movie, sleeper agents were activated by some sorta song, a little tune the movie’s antagonist played when he wanted to unleash them. 

_The tune… don’t recognize it._ I say, again more to myself than the asshole hijacking my brain. 

**_Tune?_ **

_What he’s humming._ I say, scrolling back a couple seconds, letting Horváth walk past me again for Johnny’s benefit. 

**_Wouldn’t call that a tune._ **

_He’s really into it._

Horváth, stride unbroken and still humming those few notes, lunges forward, slipping mantis blades up and through Lark’s body. Lark cries out, looking down and seeing blades pop through his torso, and Horváth looks… unperturbed. Content, even. _Man on a mission, this._ Lark collapses to the ground while Horváth moves around him, towards who’s clearly his primary target.

_Coulda chromed half the city with what he was packin’,_ I say, pausing and scanning Horváth’s implants. 

**_Prolly what happened. Body disappeared from the morgue, sight unseen. And then some pig got himself a new set of wheels and an ugly-ass suit._ **

_Know that? Or just talkin’ out your ass again?_

**_Once you’ve seen all I’ve seen, don’t need to “know” things to know ‘em. People’re the same everywhere._ **

_Okay, so, it’s comin’ out your ass, then, old man Silverhand._

The BD’s field of focus and view narrows drastically at this point. Lark’s fallen to the floor, so he no longer sees where Rhyne’s standing. Can hardly see Ward anymore, either. I’m still in editing mode, but frustrated by the additional dark space that is the boundary of Lark’s perspective. Instead, most of the focus is on Horváth’s shoes as he sees Rhyne, starts picking up speed to run to the front of the auditorium. 

Three shots ring out from the right side of the room. The shadows, where Lark can no longer see where Ward is standing, but the loud report from what sounds like a pistol is impossible for the man to miss scrolling, even as he lays dying on the floor. Horváth catches all three bullets, collapsing to the ground himself, mere feet away from Lark’s outstretched hand. Ward steps back into frame, visible again by his proximity to Lark. He’s leading with his iron, training it on Horváth, anticipating the man might get up to run. But Horváth is clearly not going anywhere. Ward kicks his arm to the side, stepping on the blade as he reaches down to check Horváth’s pulse. The BD scroll ends with Ward standing up straight, turning around to walk back towards Lark, heavy boots the last thing in frame before all motion stops. 

Out of curiosity, I switch back to live mode just long enough to get faces - of Rhyne, his huscle, and of the detective. _Huh, handsome. For a badge._ I scroll back to the ‘psycho’s face. He makes the murder a casual affair. Almost euphoric once he gets Rhyne in his sights, just before he’s dropped by the detective’s bullets. The last thing I see before I come out of the BD is the live view from the scroll. Laying on the ground, fingers twitching as Lark’s life bleeds away. Watching the detective check the ‘psycho’s pulse. Looks over at me… Lark, on the floor. Rises to approach, to check… and then nothing. 

All wrapped up, I pull the shard outta the wreath, and the wreath from my head, folding it back up into my pocket. I’m still in the car, but realizing that I’m sitting alone inside it. Carter’s brought us to what appears to be Jefferson and Elizabeth’s personal AV. They’re standing outside waiting for me to finish. 

_This is why I fuckin’ hate BDs. I coulda woke up naked on the street with a kidney missing and not noticed._

I pop the door open, stepping out of the car and squinting against the sudden brightness of the outside world. 

“So? Did you see anything suspicious, anything at all? Or are we paranoid?”

“Whole thing stinks worse than Coronado Bay in July.” I think again about the badge’s face, the urgency in his voice. The ease with which Horváth ended Lark’s life, intending on killing Night City’s mayor. I hand the shard back to Jefferson, who’s cracked a smile at my comment. 

“Huh. So, suspicions confirmed.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. I can almost feel my skin itching, like I’m jonsing for nicotine instead of Johnny. “Any questions at this point?” Jefferson’s still engaged in the conversation, though he does check his watch after he asks. Elizabeth is fully wrapped up in whatever she’s reading on her phone. 

“Red Queen’s Race - what is it?” I ask, thinking back over all the info I picked up during the BD. 

Jefferson hesitates. “Got me. Never heard of it, sorry.” It’d almost sound like a lie if I thought it made any sense at all for him to rope me in on this and then withhold details. _Maybe he was just thinking to see if he recognized the name himself._

“Know Holt’s name but very little else. Can you tell me more?” I ask. If anyone looked suspicious on the BD scroll, it was Holt. 

“Rhyne’s deputy. And his bulldog, so to speak. Running in Rhyne’s place now.” Jefferson says, looking over to Elizabeth, watching her play on her phone. He looks back to me, tilting his head in an unspoken “anything else?”. 

“The conference. Why was it held?”

“For no particular reason. Rhyne liked the sound of his voice and seeing himself on TV.” He chuckles, takes another drag off the cigarette. “Yeah. That sort of thing.” This last comment’s almost murmured to himself more than it is an answer to my question. “As far as I recall, the drop in Night City’s crime rate was the excuse for this one. Rhyne came out to tout it.”

“Sorry… _drop_?” I ask, incredulous. Night City’s more violent than ever, far as I’m aware. 

“Rhyne reclassified Pacifica an “independant district”. Stats for that part of town stopped counting.” 

“Huh. Clever.” Yeah, that seems like a political stunt, alright. 

I’m getting a sense that Jefferson’ll probably answer any questions I have, but that he and his wife are getting impatient.

“Cop who saved Rhyne… know anything about ‘im?” 

“Detective River Ward. Good guy. We worked a few cases together. You wanna talk to him? I’ll put you in touch.” 

“Mayor’s huscle - they NCPD too?” I veer a little from the topic of Ward, trying to get a sense of how connected the cops really are to this case. 

“No. All hand-picked by Holt and on a corp’s payroll.” Might be imagining it, but I think I hear more disdain in Jefferson’s voice. He’s stopped smoking the cigarette, just using it as a conversation punctuation piece as he responds. “But there _are_ ex-cops among them.”

“Anyone else beside Rhyne’s detail have access to the security terminal?” I cross my arms over my chest, and do my best not to fidget while I’m talking to Jefferson. 

“Hmm… NCPD, that’s it.” His answers are getting shorter. I’m about out of time, here. 

“Ward had great timing, seemed to me.” I turn the conversation back to the Detective. “Either has crazy good luck or had a source. Got good info. I’m gonna need some of each.”

“Well said.” Elizabeth chimes in, looking up from her phone for the first time since I got outta the car. I wonder how much of any conversation she actually pays attention to. If the phone distraction is just a show so she’ll disappear into the background, able to observe without bein’ observed. 

“Sending you his detes.” Jefferson adds, eyes lighting up as he transfers the info. I get the tingle of uploaded information in my system. “If you need anything else, let us know. We’ll help.”

Without further ado, Elizabeth turns away from the conversation we’re havin’ and steps into the AV. Jefferson drops the cigarette he was smoking, grinding it under his heel, and gives me one last politician’s smile and nod. I surreptitiously scan their AV, whistling low to myself. _Fuck me. Rayfield Excalibur, there are only like… a hundred of these in existence._

The power couple closes the door to the aforementioned and incredibly rare AV, soaring to the parts of Night City that I’ll probably never see with my own eyes. Expensive penthouses, manicured rooftop parks, and nary a splash of graffiti to be seen. I can tell Johnny wants to lift my arm and flip at least one bird, but I restrain myself. People like that’ve got a full 360 view of the city. Would rather not have my parting farewell be something that pisses ‘em off. 

_Elizabeth’s a hard one to read,_ I think, watching the AV until it disappears around the side of a building. 

**_Nah. Just another corpocunt who’s probably five steps ahead of where you are in the conversation and bored to death waitin’ for you to catch up to her._ **

_Least a corpocunt’s up front about what she’s feeling. Politician like Jefferson, looks at me like I’m the most interesting person he’s talked to today. Wanna believe it, too._

**_Didn’t think you had a thing for suits,_ **Johnny says, sounding vaguely disappointed in me. 

_Didn’t say that. I’m sayin’ it doesn’t matter how good looking they are, corpo boredom’s worth a lot more to me than a politician’s smile._

**_It’s more honest, anyway._ **

  
I pull out my phone, seeing the new number and shadowy silhouette of a new contact in my address book. _Time to call Detective Ward and see how he can help me._


	3. Appraisal

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/lobstermobsters/51026784807/in/dateposted-public/)

**◾3: APPRAISAL◾**

I place the call to Detective Ward then and there. I see no reason to wait. I’m off a main street, with Carter still in the driver’s seat of the car idling next to me. He was probably instructed to take me wherever I want as a parting gift from the Peralezes. The detective’s image is a silhouette until he answers the call, then, images captured from his video feed set themselves automatically in the address book in my phone. 

“This is Ward. Who’m I talkin’ to?” 

“Name’s V. Lookin’ into the death of one Lucius Rhyne.” 

His image shifts as he looks around, moves off the sidewalk he was on and finds somewhere out of the way to talk. 

“Wonder why. You’re not a cop.” His voice is loaded with suspicion; I get a sense that I’m one wrong answer away from being told to fuck off. 

“What gave you that impression?” The snark slips out, and I find I was mostly correct in what I was sensing from the detective. Though he has the courtesy to hang up on me instead of telling me to fuck off. 

_ Ah fuck, me and my goddamn mouth.  _

I call him back, and he picks up after a couple rings, looking more exasperated. 

“Sorry. Sarcasm’s a bad habit. My name got passed to Jefferson and Elizabeth Peralez from someone I worked with before. They reached out, mentioned you were a good guy to get in touch with for this particular ask.” 

Ward appraises me - as much as can be done by video on a tiny screen. He seems mollified enough not to give me shit for  _ being  _ a shit. “Presumptive mayor sniffing around his predecessor’s untimely death? Interesting.”

I hear by the shift in his voice that he’s taken the bait I’ve dangled, so I nod. “Done some digging, got more intel. Also interesting.” 

“Alright,” Detective Ward says, head turning to look at something I can’t see from my end of the conversation. “I’m headed to Chubby Buffalo’s.” 

“Is that… cop code for something?” I ask. He chuckles, professional veneer cracking for just a moment.

“No, but it  _ is _ a cop hotspot. I was already on my way there to meet with my partner. If you wanna talk, that’s where I’ll be in about… fifteen. It’s the one on the overpass in the Glen.” 

“Sounds good. Be there stat.” 

He ends the call after a moment’s hesitation, but without further preamble. The art of the ‘goodbye’ has been lost in the city, it seems. Can’t imagine parting ways out in the Badlands with one of the family without a “goodbye”, but…

These aren’t Nomad lands, are they?

**_Got you a little fired up, huh? Just remember, he’s a badge. That’s not the kind of person you want sniffing around the kind of business you do._ ** Johnny’s picking up on thoughts I’m not even sure I’m having at this point, reacting to things my body is doing before my brain even catches up. 

_ Thanks for the warning. But he’s just another pretty face in a sea of pretty faces.  _

But that isn’t true, is it? Jawline you could cut yourself on. One cybernetic ocular implant, whether replacement out of necessity or preference, can’t be sure. Probably not gonna make that the first question I ask him, either. The ‘ganic eye, a deep brown, intense. Looks like he might have some indigenous American in his background. And that voice… 

**_Jesus, V, wring those panties out and get to work._ **

_ Hey, man, I wasn’t even thinking of this shit until you said something. This one’s on you.  _ Johnny’s silence feels enough like agreement to me that I don’t continue giving him shit. 

But it’s a good reminder that there’s never a private moment with Johnny Silverhand in my head. I sometimes wonder what it’s like for him; a man in a woman’s head. But I haven’t had occasion to ask, and I’m not sure I want to. Broaching the subject feels a little too much like prodding a loose tooth with my tongue after taking a good punch to the face. I slip my phone in my pocket, and slide back into the car. I ask Carter to head over to the Chubby Buffalo’s BBQ in the Glen. 

“The one up on the overpass, you know?” I add. He says nothing in response - merely drops the car into drive and smoothly rolls back out into traffic. Although it’s nice to cruise around as a pampered passenger, I generally prefer riding Jackie’s bike.  _ Jackie’s bike _ . At what point would it be mine?  _ Never. Always his.  _ Keeping it sacred for reasons I couldn’t put my finger on. He probably would have given me shit over the sentimentality. But wasn’t he sentimental about it, too?

Chubby Buffalo’s is one of those divey cafes that exist all over the city. That have existed in cities since capitalism was born. Standard burgers, standard sides. Greasy as hell, pretty solid coffee if you came in at the right time of day. I thank Carter for dropping me off here, and before I get out, I’m greeted with the strong memory of the last time I saw Jackie. Dyin’ in the backseat of a car so much like this one. Feeling his hand go slack in mine after a ‘ _ thanks, chica’.  _ _ Fuck.  _ I get out, shutting the door behind me, getting my breathing under control before I head inside. I’m barely outta the car before Carter is on the move, driving back to wherever corporate chauffeurs return when they’re done with the job. 

A surge of panic hits me - something not too dissimilar from when the Relic’s malfunctioning in my head. I’ve tried so hard the last couple weeks to focus on _my_ predicament, avoid following this train of thoughts. Thinking about attending Jackie’s _ofrenda_ with Mama Welles, Vik, a few others. Of reading a passage from “For Whom The Bell Tolls” as I stared at a picture of my best friend, reduced to a static smile. A picture that captured none of his belly laughter, none of his over the top dance moves, nothing of his life or his passion. The botched heist comes flooding back, and I’m remembering how it felt to watch my best friend die for a stupid fucking _corpo_ _klep job_ , of all things. 

As though on cue, the  _ Relic Malfunction  _ message flickers in my view, and I let out a couple coughs before getting my shit together. The coughs come with increasing flecks of blood, these days. Probably not a sign of improvement.  _ Stupid fuckin’ biochip.  _ I think, gritting my teeth.  _ Shake it off, V. Time for biz.  _

I’ve never been to this restaurant, but it’s not much different than any other I’ve stepped foot in. Laminate floor in a checkered pattern that probably hasn’t seen a proper cleaning since they were installed, the scent of cooking oil in the air so strong I can taste it. I see Detectives Ward and Han before they see me. Detective Ward has a much prettier face in person. _ Much. This keeps getting better.  _ ‘Least if the job doesn’t turn anything up, I’ll have this guy to think about later when Johnny pisses me off. 

“Someone here to see you, looks like.” Detective Han says, giving me barely more than a glance to confirm my intent as I approach the table. He’s the older of the two. Looking less interested in the world around him, favoring thoughts about what’s in his cup. His hair is more salt than pepper, and deep wrinkles branch out from his eyes, down his cheeks. 

“Hm. Wonder what about.” Detective Ward says after a long sip of his drink, setting it down on the table to give me the once over. 

“You River Ward?” I ask. 

“In the flesh. V, right?” I nod, and he gestures towards the other man. “My partner, Detective Han.” 

“Okay, well, thanks for agreeing to meet.” I give Han as much of my attention as he’s given me, which is to say, virtually none. 

“You really intend to work with a merc?” Han asks Ward, not bothering to keep the disdain out of his voice. 

The younger detective looks from Han, back to me. Sizing me up. His forehead’s wrinkled up in thought, and the tightness in his jaw tells me, again, that now’s not the time for testing his patience. “Don’t know what I intend just yet. For now, gonna see if I hear anything new about Rhyne’s death.” 

“You back on that? Boss already told you to drop it. Don’t make him say it again. You know he hates to say things twice.” Han sounds exasperated, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this particular conversation. “And if you couldn’t give a rat’s fat ass about any of that, heed my advice, as your friend. Just let the case  _ go _ .” He puts extra emphasis on the last word, throwing his hand up towards the window like he’s banishing Ward’s desire to pursue this. 

I cross my arms in front of me, stepping back a few inches to give them room to hash this out. I see Ward grit his teeth while Han’s lecturing him.  _ Definitely not the first time they’ve talked about something like this.  _

“See me doin’ anything? Just sittin’ here, sippin’ coffee, listenin’ to gossip.” Ward looks over to me, shrugging at me. I look to Han, giving a similar shrug like  _ yeah, man, I’m just here to gossip with a badge.  _

“Fine. Do what you want. I’m not about to be part of this. Gotta go get my little girl, anyway.” Han sounds exasperated, shoves his plate sideways as he prepares to scoot out of the booth. “And you two at  _ least  _ find a quieter corner. Wouldn’t wanna be overheard.” At this, he stands, moving past me like I’m not there, bringing with him the strong scent of old cigarette smoke. I watch him go, wrinkling my nose in disgust. The only thing worse than smelling cigarette smoke, is smelling  _ old  _ cigarette smoke. On someone’s clothes, in their hair. Ward shifts his attention back to me once Han’s out of his line of sight. 

“Okay. Talk.” Ward says, gesturing to the now empty seat in front of him, sounding like he barely has time or patience for this conversation. As I slide into the booth, he turns his laser focus onto me. A tingle spreads across the back of my neck and down my back, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with any tech or implants.

Johnny appears in the seat next to Detective Ward, a flickering hologram of the man that I’ve already become uncomfortably comfortable with seeing in my waking life. 

**_Can you at least wait until I’m outta your head until…_ **

_ I am absolutely not catering to the whims of a dead man. You keep bitchin’, I’m heading out to Clouds to imagine one of their dolls with Ward’s face on while I fuck ‘em.  _

Johnny scoffs, taking a drag off of his eternally burning digital cigarette. He gets nothing from it except the pleasure of a long standing habit, I know, but… I understand it, so I say nothing. Good to know that ghosts still have addictions. Gives me somethin’ extra to look forward to.

“Detective Han doesn’t seem like much of a fan of edgerunners.” 

“Don’t take it personally. Han’s not a fan of anybody. ‘Cept his daughter.” He pauses, waiting for me to respond, but I just shift a little in the seat. “So, you wanted to talk?” He prompts. 

“Before the attack, you wanted to talk to Rhyne’s huscle, get some info to them. What was it?” 

Ward leans back in the seat, giving me a new, more curious look. Eyebrows up. He glances around us, seemingly becoming aware of the crowded room for the first time. 

“Huh. Han was right; acoustics’re too good in here. Got my car outside.” 

“Okay, sure.” I say, scooting out of the seat I’d only just gotten comfortable in as Detective Ward does the same. I barely come up to his shoulder, and now he’s looking down at me, maintaining a steady and confident eye contact. He turns, and I let him lead the way, watching the way he walks, and the way he fills out a very well worn leather jacket. I barely hear Johnny’s snarky thoughts in my head. 

_ Sorry, can’t hear you over this man’s shoulders, god DAMN.  _ At this point I’m trying to rile him up as much as I’m just indulging myself. 

**_Fuckin’ ugh, V._ **

Ward leads us toward a truck that looks as comfortable and lived in as the jacket. I smile, doing my best to banish it before Ward turns around and catches me. Asks me something like “what’s funny?”. A more fitting vehicle doesn’t exist for the man, I’m sure of it. A Thorton Mackinaw; perfect for going pretty much anywhere you wanna go, Badlands or otherwise. Drives like a fuckin’ boat, though, which is most of the reason I don’t own one. Rain starts up again just as we get the doors closed, and Ward turns the truck on but doesn’t move it. The inside of the cab is well worn, but clean - not a scrap of garbage or even, really, a trace of anything personal inside. Smells like a mixture of sweat, worn leather, and something fainter, more pleasant. I find my cheeks warming slightly as I check out his profile. 

**_Ugh. You’ve made your point, alright?_ **

_ C’mon, don’t be jealous.  _ I tease him. I feel that scowl again rather than see it, as Johnny hasn’t deigned to appear in the truck. The laugh in my head doesn’t translate to my lips. Somethin’ unsettling about laughing in your mind; just another symptom of mental illness I’ve become accustomed to recently. 

“Some of the boys from the precinct saw Horváth around Arroyo, shooting up dumpsters, hollering how he’s gotta meet with the mayor. Brought ‘im in.” Ward starts. There’s music playing, something heavy with guitar, but the volume’s near zero, so mostly what I hear is his voice and the rain hitting the windshield. 

“Brought who in?” I ask. 

“Péter Horváth.” He pronounces the name with its intended accents. Pay-ter Hoorvath. “Cyberpsycho who attacked the mayor after he got out of jail. They took him downtown, but then he got “lost” before they could get his statement.” 

Right, Péter Horváth, the murderer whose mantis blades I was fortunate enough to experience second hand in the Peralezes’ BD. Says a lot about what’s on my mind that I’ve already put that experience behind me. 

“So, you saw him as a potential threat, decided to warn the mayor? Just like that… cause ya got a good heart?” I ask. It’s a little snide, but I’m trying to get a sense of who I’m working with here. 

“Make it sound like that’s somethin’ to be ashamed of.” His hands are still on the steering wheel, but he glances over at me, frowning, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Ashamed?” I ask, feeling a little better about his response. I kind of like that he sounded a little offended that I’d questioned his ethics. “No. Just not somethin’ you see everyday. Not here.” He makes a noncommittal noise in response. I drum my fingers against my leg. “Said Horváth got “lost”. How’s that happen? What’s it mean?” 

“It means someone didn’t want him counting roaches in his cell that day.” He glances over at me. “And before you ask me… no. I got no idea who.” Ward’s still got a wall up between us; I get a strong impression he’s not in favor of working outside of the NCPD’s rulebook. And I am well outside of it. “Got a couple people we can talk to, if you want. You can tag along with me, or find your own way there. Up to you.” 

I look out the window at the rain that’s now coming down in sheets. I could get back to Jackie’s bike, meet Ward wherever these  _ people  _ are. But I’m already here, and still dry.

“Already in your car, don’t mind staying dry.” I give voice to the thought in my head, and Ward nods. He pulls out of the lot and heads downtown.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of 'To the Desert', my novelization fic of River's questline (and more) from Cyberpunk2077. Go easy, please - I haven't written fanfic since I was a kid. :)  
> A few notes concerning the fic and what is to be expected:
> 
> \- This started small and grew quite a bit - I'd expect this to be probably closer to 200k by the time it's done.  
> \- Conversations with Johnny will be written in italic/bold - italic for V's thoughts, bold-italic for Johnny's. I do my best to separate their conversations visually for ease of reading.  
> \- There will be a photo added at the start of every chapter for easier visualization  
> \- Updates should be weekly, unless otherwise stated  
> \- I wrote this because I felt like, not only did River deserve more love, but I felt like the Peralezes needed a bigger part in the whole story, too.  
> \- This will cover major story beats for River/V, game events through the Arasaka Parade, and a couple of Johnny-focused side gigs. Also through those segments will be original content, and after M'Ap Tann Pelen, all events following will be original content.  
> \- My first few chapters will be shorter, just padding out events as they happened in game. Don't worry! They'll get longer and more interesting/original as time goes on.  
> \- Special thanks to the best friend I discovered after bonding over this game, a woman whose beta-reading and comments on my work has kept me sane and made me feel SO happy to be writing again - thanks so much, Elsa, for all you've done and continue to do! 
> 
> If you have any questions, let me know, otherwise... I hope you enjoy!


End file.
